


Work Bitch (You'd Better)

by extryn



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bimboification, Body Dysphoria, Embedded Images, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fanart, Forced Feminization, High Heels, Humiliation, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup, Medical Procedures (Threatened), Nipple Clamps, Objectification, Oral Sex, Slut Shaming, The Year That Never Was (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn
Summary: The Doctor drops his gaze. His lips are so very moist and pink, all plumped and shiny as they part under his fretting. ‘This is—’ he breaks off, swallows. How awkward. ‘This is ridiculous, Master.’The Master examines him, a slow drag of his eyes up the Doctor’s body. He reaches out to stroke his cheek, all powdery-soft with moisturiser and whatever else Lucy kept in her vanity. ‘Is that how you feel?’ he murmurs. ‘Ridiculous?’The Doctor looks away, his voice bitten ragged. ‘No.’(Now with gorgeous fanart by the incrediblemagismol!)
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Britney's totally right.](https://geeksoncoffee.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/comical-brain-memes.jpg)
> 
> This literally started from 0.78 seconds of a mental image of pretty, freckled Ten in lingerie, and somehow became an absolute shitshow of twisty humiliation kink. There's some use of slut-shaming and misogynistic slurs, and if those are giving you a bit of squick, check out the warnings in the end notes for a bit more detail on the tone.
> 
> I'm 100% blaming [Riathel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riathel) for this given it's _her_ kink, not mine. I have not at all been converted, and I resent such implications.
> 
> Er, I hope/promise you'll like it.

‘I don’t understand,’ the Doctor says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His arms are crossed around his waist, covering up the sweet little bells dangling off his nipples. 

The Master relaxes underneath him, luxuriating in the Doctor’s pretty, tarted-up distress. ‘Why do you need to?’ he insinuates, speaking to the Doctor’s lean, hairless thighs and the thin strip of lace between them. 

The Doctor drops his gaze. His lips are so very moist and pink, all plumped and shiny as they part under his fretting. ‘This is—’ he breaks off, swallows. How awkward. ‘This is ridiculous, Master.’

The Master examines him, a slow drag of his eyes up the Doctor’s body. He reaches out to stroke his cheek, all powdery-soft with moisturiser and whatever else Lucy kept in her vanity. ‘Is that how you feel?’ he murmurs. ‘Ridiculous?’ 

The Doctor looks away, his voice bitten ragged. ‘No.’

‘I think you look gorgeous,’ the Master says, hooking a finger under the diamante choker he’d chosen. He pulls the Doctor forwards, the gentle chime of bells following his every move; the Doctor wincing, more from the sound than the negligible pinch of those clips, the Master thinks. 

‘I’m,’ the Doctor tries, and those glossy lips can’t seem to live up to their own promise. The Doctor is rubbing the chest band of his bra, a furtive little jerk of forefinger and thumb. Every so often, one of his acrylics catches on the elastic and bends his nailbed. Poor thing. ‘I’m not your doll.’

‘No,’ the Master agrees, ‘You’re my slut.’

The Doctor’s reaction is stunning; a pained clench of his jaw, grimacing off to the side of the bed. To soothe him, the Master cups one of his slender breasts. The lavender bra barely covers anything; just a little crescent of fabric to perk up his bust. He wears a sheer black robe, fine as silk pantyhose, his right hand gripping the satin edging.

‘Watch it,’ the Master warns, the rumble of his voice abruptly sharp, slapping the Doctor’s nails away.

The Doctor hesitates, looking down at himself with distant misery. ‘I’m sorry, Master.’

‘Make it up to me,’ the Master murmurs, spreading his legs.

The Doctor’s expression shrivels further, his hand extricating itself from his side. He hesitates. He doesn’t seem to know where to put it, to the point where the Master has to slip his mostly-soft cock from his pants and weigh it indicatively.

Shuffling, trying to coordinate the high heels the Master has buckled onto him, the Doctor leans forward and takes it in hand. The Master murmurs appreciatively, stretching towards him in encouragement.

The Doctor, pretty as he is, gives a shit handjob. He keeps trying to form a good grip and getting confused where to put his thumb. When he finally manages to get his hand around the Master’s cock and stroke it, he immediately pinches it with those unwieldy nails.

‘You useless bitch,’ the Master snarls, and grabs his arm. The Doctor flinches like he expected to be struck. ‘Even those human whores you travel with can manage this.’

The Doctor’s hand whips away, his eyes hard and terrified at the same time. He slumps off the Master, heels snagging the fine egyptian linens and one of his knee-highs as he goes. His nipples jingle.

The Master strokes himself, encouraging a hard-on where the Doctor won’t. He lets the Doctor stare angrily at the floor for a while, focussing on the bony margins of his back, shimmering under the silk. He’d look better with fake tits. Fill out that awful stick-figure of his.

The Master flicks one of his bells. ‘These need to be bigger. Silicone implants, just like Lucy,’ he muses, working his cock with his spare hand. ‘You can tell me if they feel like the real thing. You’ve had more experience with women than me.’

The Doctor jerks away from him. ‘Don’t,’ he hisses, ‘just don’t.’

The Master appraises him, his hand pausing in its stroke. His face is so painted-on, the expression hardly even makes it to the surface. ‘Wouldn’t you like that, Doctor? I’d need a plastic surgeon. A nurse. You’d be able to save them.’

Ah. He doesn’t have a response to that.

‘Suck my cock and I’ll take those clips off,’ the Master orders. He has an uncanny talent for predicting when the Doctor is on the exact precipice of obedience, the moment when the agony of his refusal bleeds into resignation. The Doctor crawls up his legs, swaying as he tries to navigate the points of the stilettos, and bows to bring his mouth close.

The thick eyeliner and overplucked brows look good. His eyes look permanently surprised and sultry all at once. He looks like he wants to close them and pretend he’s somewhere else but is too determined to fight his own reactions, as if he’s created some alternate battleground where he might be able to win.

He touches his lips to the side of the Master’s cock, tacky with gloss, and immediately pulls away from the unfamiliar sensation. He leaves a deep rose smudge of lipstick behind.

‘Messy,’ the Master comments. ‘If you’d just suck like I told you to, this wouldn’t be a problem.’

Resigned, angry, the Doctor swallows down his cock and pulls at it with his cheeks. Too hard, if the Master is honest, but he appreciates the resentful enthusiasm. He doesn’t really manage to get it past the back of his throat. It’s fine – the Master plans to fuck him, anyway. Get him to bounce on those long thighs and fondle himself.

He thinks about filling the silence with more bespoke humiliation, but the absence of sound except the Doctor’s loose slurping is doing an excellent job by itself. The Doctor’s hands are fisted in the bed, his fingers occasionally flinching when he nearly breaks a nail, his unstyled hair drooping over his face, growing long from neglect. 

In time, the Doctor finally works up some saliva, and the Master slides pleasantly inside his mouth, fully hard. He’s almost too comfortable, his mind occupied with the task, his aggressive sucking now giving way to careful use of throat and tongue.

The Master pulls him off. ‘Trying to make me come, are you?’

The Doctor’s hastily averted gaze is answer enough.

The Master takes a thumb to his chin, his lipstick smeared across it, and works the colour further across his cheek. ‘That greedy for my come all over your face. Dear, dear.’

As the Doctor shies away from his touch, the Master draws his mess further down his neck, tapping thoughtfully on his collarbone. He _did_ promise. The Master plucks one of the little bells, the nipple an angry red on the outside and strangulated white between the clip. He doesn’t bother to release the jaws before ripping it off. The Doctor stiffens, a high-pitched noise stifled by a hiss of breath, and the Master does the same to the second.

‘There,’ the Master says, pinching the sore flesh and rolling it, the Doctor whining through his clenched teeth, ‘Doesn’t that feel better?’

The Doctor manages to conjure some expression of betrayal, enough to briefly conceal his shame. His jaw is still clenched. His nipples must be hurting. The Master releases his grasp, then pinches harder again. ‘Maybe if they weren’t so small to start with, I wouldn’t have to make them swollen.’

‘Enough,’ the Doctor says, his voice rough with pain, and twists free of his grip. ‘Enough.’

The Master smiles broadly. ‘Oh, alright, then.’ He squeezes his cock. ‘Come sit on Daddy’s lap.’

The Doctor does nothing except to freeze up, a palpable tension radiating from his pale body to where he straddles the Master’s legs. The Master lets him stew. He eyes off the Master’s cock, his shoulders hunched, chewing on his lip.

‘Hurry up, Doctor,’ he prompts, when the Doctor sinks into his paralysis rather than fighting it.

The Doctor looks up at him, all at once too old, too sad. It washes off the thick veil of illusion painted onto his body, leaving something ugly and honest beneath. He gestures with a set of fake nails down at himself. ‘Do we really need all this? Why does it have to be so difficult, Master.’

The Doctor is like an electric blanket. Deliciously warm, he coaxes you into sleep, and then you wake up in the middle of the night with your bed in flames. It’s probably even an accident. 

The Master has become very adept at putting out the Doctor’s spot fires. 

‘When have you ever made it easy?’ the Master replies easily and reaches down to roll his balls, too. The Doctor never remembers to suck them.

The Doctor looks off to the side, somewhere near the Master’s ear, reactions as transparent as his silk robe. ‘I would. If you stopped this, all this destruction, this _madness_ , if you’d just let me _help_ —’ 

The Master seizes him by the collar, four fingers at the back of his neck, pulling the plastic tight against his airway. ‘You're selling sex in exchange for what you want, Doctor. I think that makes you a whore.’

Strained as they are, the Doctor forces the words out with more breath than voice, ‘Don’t talk about them like that. Don’t you dare.’ Amused, the Master makes no real efforts to choke him. The Doctor’s eyes shine with that diamond-hard glint, the righteous power the Master has always sought to claim as his own. ‘Those women deserve more respect than you ever will.’

The Master snorts. He gropes the Doctor’s tit, cupping it as if it could actually fill out his hand, flicks a thumb over the puffy nipple. Obligingly, the Doctor cringes from the touch. ‘If that’s true, then why are you so ashamed of this?’ 

Angry, caught, the Doctor has no response. The Master releases him. He reaches over to his nightstand and finds a half-used tube of lubricant. The Master tosses it to the Doctor. ‘Go on, then.’

His teeth are clenched, jaw twitching with the effort, and still an anguished, frustrated noise slips from the Doctor’s smeared mouth. 

The Doctor stares at the lube, hoping it’ll make the decision for him. He finally bends to pick it up, and the Master takes advantage of the opportunity to squeeze his pert arse. 

‘Keep those,’ the Master instructs, before the Doctor can slide off his knickers. ‘You’re sexier with them on.’

The Doctor redirects his efforts to opening the lube. He struggles with the cap, unable to flick a nail underneath, the flat of his thumb not providing enough traction. It’s comical; his thin brows furrow in concentration, his overdrawn lips pursed and tongue touching the corner of his mouth. 

When he finally manages to squeeze a stripe of gel across his index finger, the Doctor falls listless again. He hesitates, then reaches behind himself with obvious distaste, fiddling with the string of his thong. 

The Master had hoped to watch him fuck himself on his fingers, see the pleasure bleed through the smouldering shame in his eyes, but the Doctor can hardly even rub it on his arse without stabbing himself. 

Instead, the Doctor clambers awkwardly over the Master’s cock, sticky hand clawing into the Master’s hip, the other pulling his thong aside, and tries to sink down. 

‘Impatient,’ the Master chides. He guides the head of his cock to the Doctor’s arse, thumbing it in, the tight resistance giving way as he pops through—the Doctor hisses, body stiff with pain, and lifts off. 

The Master takes hold of his shoulder, bony and straining, and pushes him down. He’s had plenty of chances. The Doctor’s thighs shake as he tries again, and as soon as he lowers himself around the head of the Master’s cock, the Master thrusts in as hard and deep as he can. The Doctor screams, a delightfully thin, abrupt noise that loses breath mid-thrust. He seizes up, gripping the Master’s hip, the bedsheets for dear life, face crumpled in agony. The Master can feel him throbbing around his cock, hot and _so_ grippy. He fucks up into the Doctor a few times, holding his shoulders in place, pulling down when the Doctor tries to jerk away. 

‘Such a nice tight cunt,’ the Master groans, and presses a thumb into the Doctor’s mouth. Appalled, he doesn’t accept it with much enthusiasm, tongue glued to the back of his throat. Never mind. 

He releases the Doctor, who pulls off immediately with a pained hiss. Horrified, the Doctor curls over him, panting through the worst of the pain. The Master is rather flattered to know his cock feels as big as it looks. It feels the loss keenly, aching for more of that nearly-painful pressure. He licks his lips. 

‘Sit on it.’

The Doctor’s eyeliner is smudging, his clumpy lashes damp. He keeps them tightly closed, knees braced around the Master’s sides, and lowers himself fretfully. The Doctor doesn’t dawdle half as much this time, forcing himself past the head and a little of the way down the shaft. It goes a little easier, now some of that lube has worked its way in. 

The Master rocks his hips a little. The Doctor is so soft inside, warm and wet. ‘All the way.’

Slowly, agonisingly, the Doctor does – the Master can feel it when something gives inside him and the Doctor sinks down to the root, a desperate sob escaping as he fights to adjust. Oh, it’s good. The Doctor’s arse clings to him like a wringer. 

‘I want you to fuck yourself,’ the Master says, voice rough, mouth dry, ‘Make your tits jiggle.’

He rides cock the same way he sucks it: halting, overproduced, and distant. Jerky, sluggish movements of his thighs, the Doctor’s back stiff, his posture forced. His dick is going to go soft like this.

‘ _Bounce_ on it, Doctor,’ the Master snarls, snapping his hips up to demonstrate, throwing the Doctor a couple inches into the air and back down. He catches a little yelp as the Doctor bottoms out, innards unfolding around his cock so sweetly. 

Gritting his teeth, the Doctor obeys, putting his full weight into it. He manages to bite off the noises, but the Master can see his pain regardless; the strain in his neck, the way his pressed-thin mouth quavers. Their skin slaps loudly as the Doctor slams against him. It feels _amazing._

The Master sweeps his eyes back across the Doctor, and finds his picture almost complete, the composition perfect, nothing but details left to be filled in.

Orgasm gathering inside him, the Master meets his thrusts, deliberately just out-of-time. ‘Smile. Smile like a pretty, dumb slut.’

The Doctor momentarily looks like he might collapse; his rhythm losing beats, his face twisting sharply to one side.

‘ _Smile_ ,’ the Master orders, and the Doctor shows his teeth: a downcast, empty grimace, lips pulled up in a grotesque parody. ‘Touch yourself while you’re doing it.’

Back arched now, hips fluid in order to keep his momentum, the Doctor draws a shaky hand down his sternum, stuttering across one breast on the way to his groin. He fumbles his way over the lace knickers, shoves his fingers down the front and awkwardly squeezes his cock. The corners of his mouth fall back into a stretched clench of teeth as he concentrates. Patting his head and rubbing his tummy, the Doctor almost looks like the genius he claims to be.

Bathed in a near spiritual sense of completion, the Master drives as deep as he can around the Doctor’s bony arse, fighting for those last few centimetres around his cock. He tastes the breadth of the future before him, and comes. 

The Doctor pulls off before he’s finished, a fat string of semen falling out of him and landing stickily on the inside of his thigh. He hovers awkwardly above him as the Master strokes himself through the last of his orgasm. 

The Master doesn’t need afterglows when he already has everything he wants. He rolls over and grabs the Doctor’s suit, flung unceremoniously to the floor hours ago. 

‘Here,’ the Master orders, tossing it at him. ‘Get dressed.’

The Doctor jumps off him so suddenly that he rolls his ankle, his yelp sharp and unexpected, almost pitching over. He barely saves the fall. The Doctor doesn’t look at the Master as he reaches around, scrabbling at the clasp on the bra, ready to tear it off if he could only get his fingertips to meet.

The Master laughs pleasantly. ‘No, Doctor. I told you to _get dressed_.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess [who](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magismol143) made some utterly gorgeous fanart for this fic! Please, _please_ go follow [magismol](https://magismol-v.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for more beautiful art and generally very good taste. ;)

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings: slut-shaming, misogynistic slurs and whorephobia in the context of forced feminisation and humiliation.**  
>  There's deliberate reference to the Master choosing these to upset the Doctor, who does assert that none of these things are bad or shameful in the text. (That said, he's pretty unhappy about being objectified and hypersexualised.) I'm hoping these elements rightly come across as horror, which is the bulk of the kink. (Oh, and pretty!Ten.)


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